The Escaped Convict
by forty-two dreams
Summary: "Rubbish!" Ron cried. "How can alcohol be girly? Back me up here Hermione, that's sexist, isn't it?" Hermione looked deeply uncomfortable. "Ah, there's sexist and there's … traditional."
1. Prologue

Dennis had always enjoyed throttling his classmates, but his favorite victims were challenges. At his old school, he had taken on the rival Dragon gang with three mates (there had been five Dragons) on a regular basis. Here in his new school in Surrey, it seemed this Dudley Dursley ran the most powerful gang around, and his cousin, Harry, was proving quite hard to catch. My first day, and already on my way to helping my new mates take down the escaped convict, he thought.

Dennis knew, in the back of his mind, that the boy was not a prisoner on the lam with a small army of tattooed, knuckle-cracking friends, but he found that, at nine years of age, he still had not outgrown the urge to pretend. Piers, Malcom, Gordon, and Dudley, by an odd stroke of luck, thought it was some sort of cool slang, and tried to imitate his prison-guard talk. The wardens were closing in on their target.

"Won't we have to stop when your parents—I mean the other jailers-- get home?" he asked, after he had grown bored with his job of holding Harry down while Gordon punched him. "For that matter, where are the convict's accomplices?"

Dudley smirked. "He works alone." The other half of Dennis' question was soon to come.

"And how are you boys today?" Mr. Dursley greeted them, apparently entirely unaware of the marred body of his nephew. "Ah, the strong against the weak. I remember primary school."

"Dudley has so many friends," Mrs. Dursley agreed happily. "Would you all like some oatmeal cookies in the kitchen?"

The other boys raced off with the Dursleys, temporarily unaware that they had left Harry and Dennis standing quietly in the hall. Dennis was staring in awe at the boy whose screams he had just been both causing and muffling.

"You… they… they didn't even care! Your aunt and uncle just walked by, convict. Don't you have parents to stop this sort of thing?"

Harry looked at the newest member of Dudley's gang in surprise. "My parents died in a car crash. I've lived here since I was a year old, and I've never gotten on with the Dursleys."

Dennis looked solemnly at the boy across from him, all games forgotten. "Why not?"

Harry had grown suspicious. This was, after all, one of Dudley's gang, new though he was. "I'm a monster. I'm a scary, ugly, horribly mean monster! You'd better go away before I get you!"

He ignored Harry's last comment. "Why don't you at least hide in your bedroom?"

"I don't have a bedroom," said Harry in his gravely monster voice. "They shut me in the cupboard so I don't kill them in their sleep. Stay away!"

Dennis didn't think he'd ever heard anything so horrible. He looked Harry straight in the eye. "Listen, kid," he intoned urgently, "You aren't a monster. You need to tell a teacher what your uncle and aunt are doing to you, and you need to do it soon."

Harry swallowed and regarded Dennis with a wary eye. "They don't believe me. They came once to see if I was telling the truth, and Aunt Petunia was horribly nice, and they recommended I be sent to counseling."

Piers chose this moment to stick his head back into the hallway. "Are you coming, Dennis?"

Harry was no fool. "Owww! Stop it!"

Dennis obliged with a stage punch. Luckily, Piers was almost as stupid as Dudley.

"Just a minute, Piers!" he called. To Harry: "Er, why don't we step into your cupboard for a bit?"

Dudley's gang really was entirely too stupid. As long as Harry and Dennis yelled some insults at each other every minute or two, they were able to have a decent conversation. Dennis discovered that Harry also enjoyed making things up, especially about magic, and they agreed to talk in an invented wizard code from then on. They talked a bit about unfair teachers and particularly revolting girls in their grade. Dennis found he could tell almost anything to this serious, bespectacled boy.

The next two visits went much the same way. Believing Dennis had Harry under control, Piers, Malcom, Gordon, and Dudley began playing basketball. Dennis even managed to slip some food to his undernourished friend. On the third visit, however, Malcom wanted his turn at the punching bag. Peeking his head into the cupboard, he saw what had been happening.

"Hey, he's not hurting Harry at all!" he called to the other boys.

Dennis protested. Harry didn't deserve what he got, but Dennis didn't want to lose his only friends.

"I was just tired," he said. "Look." And he proceeded to kick Harry in a moderately hard fashion, completely ignoring the pleading look the other boy.

Knowing Dudley's gang would get suspicious, he never spoke to Harry again. He knew in a year and a half, Dudley and friends would be sent to Smeltings, a private school which they bragged about whenever possible. He did not believe the Dursleys would pay the tuition for Harry, who seemed destined for Stonewall High. Dennis' parents, who were rather poor, were sending their son to Stonewall as well.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered so softly that he didn't think the boy would hear. "I'll talk to you later."

But when later came, Harry was mysteriously sent off to Saint Brutus', a school Dennis had never heard of. He was never able to make it up to the escaped convict.


	2. Parole

Dudley paced through the yard of Number Four artlessly, a piece of newspaper clutched in his big left hand. It was weird being back home after his year in rural Scotland, a year so different from the previous seventeen, so full of cows and fields and lanterns, of quiet and goodness and peace, that one could hardly count it with the others at all.

Oh, he'd known in the back of his mind that his family was in Scotland because an ominous terrorist loomed contentedly on the nearing horizon of their perfect lives, but that was easy to forget from day to day. The village school, with its decent, simple lads, too happy to know they'd be utterly defenseless at a real sixth form college, had measured up to Smeltings like a flock of ewes to a wasps' nest. And just like that Dudley had met a side of himself he'd never before suspected existed.

Then one evening as he'd been lingering around the farmhouse fire with his parents and some neighbors, a woman in a dark cloak had shown herself in and announced that it was over. They could go home. You-know-who was dead; they could go home. Harry had killed him (had David's cynical kinsmen opened their eyes so wide when they'd gotten word of his triumph over Goliath!) and they could go home.

Mum had uttered a noise of joy and surprise and hugged him, grateful to see the end, but Dad, his contempt for the Wand Flickers never dampened for an instant, could not accept even good news lying down. With a mutter of 'took the boy long enough,' he continued on reading his newspaper.

Their visitor, a Miss Hestia Jones, grew so enraged at this welcome that before Mum could offer her a seat she'd stormed onto a stool, put a presumptuous finger in Dad's eye, and said the words Dudley hadn't been able to get out of his mind since:

"Why that young man wanted to risk his life saving the muggle world after a childhood spent among you lot is beyond me!"

For one it was hard to imagine Harry (his cousin Harry? The small kid with the glasses he used to punch?) defending anyone from a serious threat to life and freedom. Sure he'd driven off the scary invisible magic wind which had almost killed Dudley back home but this was an actual adult human. There was his magic and all but didn't his enemy have _scarier_ magic and a _bigger_ wand? Not to mention a whole terrorist cell at his disposal? That story he'd have to sneak out of one of these wizards later. But assuming he did, somehow, go toe-to-toe with Lord Voldemort of a thousand nightmares, slayer of Aunt Lily and Uncle James and hundreds of others and even people his cousin had known personally, it was a fair question. Why would Harry even _disagree_ with a person who thought non-wizards were horrible?

The article Miss Jones had left behind made it clear that the wizards had given the kid enough ticker tape and kisses for a whole army. But that just made it all the more uneven. A wizard takes down a wizard defending (oh, just SAY it) muggles and even if the muggles don't know what happened, even if the whole point of his effort was that the muggles could keep living their innocent lives unmolested by the wizarding world, it seemed like someone representing the muggles should offer a word of thanks.

And to make matters worse, today was Harry's birthday, which just drove home to Dudley the vast inequalities in the birthday celebrations they had been given when they were younger.

His musing were suddenly interrupted by a glad cry of recognition. "Dudley?"

It was Dennis Hayes, from primary school. "Dennis!" he answered. "Great to see you."

"It's been, what, over a year?" Dennis recalled. "You left in such a hurry."

"Yeah, guess we did," Dudley said shiftily.

"Wouldn't tell anyone where you were going, even. And now you're back? What was that about?"

"Ahhh..." Dudley tried to remember the cover story he was supposed to be following. "Long story, that," he chuckled forcibly.

"No, really," Dennis pressed. "I won't tell anyone if you don't want. You know me."

Dudley quietly invited the other boy inside.

"Is there something wrong, mate?" asked Dennis quietly. "You seem to be thinking, er, deeper than usual."

Dudley shrugged and said nothing. He had never been very clever at deceiving anyone but his mother.

"Hey," Dennis grinned as they passed the stairs, "you know who I haven't seen in ages? Harry!"

"Harry?" quivered Dudley.

"You know, your cousin Harry?" said Dennis. "Did you go see him graduate from St. Brutus'?"

"He ... he dropped out of school," Dudley fumbled.

"Oh yeah? That's odd," Dennis mused. "He was pretty clever; I always thought he'd go to uni or something."

"Well, er, he wanted to travel a bit last year. Lived rough in the countryside. But now he's got a place in London I think."

"Brilliant!" Dennis smiled. "Wish my parents would let me go backpacking for a bit. Have you seen his flat? Or do you still, y'know, not get on?"

Dudley was shaking like an addict now. Did they still not get on… it should have been a simple question. Still, he'd probably never see Harry again, so what did it matter?

"Yeah," said Dennis to cover the silence. "Guess it's the same with you two as it is with my sister and I. Weird."

"It's always easier to get on with people you don't live with, isn't it?" said Dudley's mum, ever the perfect hostess, striding over with three cups of tea. "Come sit down, Dennis. How's … Stonewall, was it?"

"Just seen the last of that place!" Dennis grinned. "It was all right, I suppose, but I am quite ready to move on. Know what I mean?" he said, elbowing Dudley. "Going to UCL in the fall, I am!"

"That's lovely, Dennis. Dudders here is going to school up north; he got to like living there I suppose."

"Is that where you lot went, then? What were you doing there?"

Mrs. Dursley frowned. "Oh … wanted a change of scenery, I suppose," she said cryptically.

"And why didn't Harry go with you? You really let him drop out and wander around all year?" Dennis asked, incredulous. "That doesn't seem like you."

"Harry was always a very independent boy," said Mrs. Dursley through thin lips. "He can take care of himself."

"Ah, that's true," Dennis agreed. "He _was_ magic after all."

Both Dursleys sat bolt upright.

It was Dennis' turn to look uncomfortable. "It was a game we had at school. A joke."

Dudley looked at Dennis. He and Harry had shared jokes in primary school?

"We were, er, 'secret mates' or something for a bit. You know, the kind of thing that makes perfect sense when you're small."

But Mrs. Dursley didn't seem to find it funny. "And you played that he was, ah, 'magic' because..."

"Well you raised the kid; you must know," said Dennis matter-of-factly. "He just quite obviously had some kind of paranormal power. Remember when we were chasing him at school that time, Dudley, and he flew right onto the roof? Just jumped and flew twenty feet up. I've never seen anything like it."

"So he was athletic," said Dudley sardonically.

"No!" barked Dennis. "Why do grown-up people always do this? We all knew he was magic when we were little, even if you didn't like to talk about it – Piers swore he could talk to snakes. And then the time Stephanie Pearsson dared him to turn Miss Snow's wig blue, and he did?" He shook his head. "But then when we got older everyone decided it didn't happen. But I remember. It did happen. Harry was magic, and it was bloody great, even if you all treated him like some kind of curse."

Mrs. Dursley suddenly stood up and then sat down. "_Bloody great_, was it?" she sputtered. "He tried to turn Dudley into a cat once. You were too little to remember," she clarified to Dudley, "thank goodness."

"Have I got a sign on me that says 'wizards please mess me about'?" muttered Dudley. "_You_ lock Harry in a cupboard, _I_ get a pig's tail. _You_ be rude to his friends, _I_ nearly choke on my own tongue..."

"You boys were babies. He couldn't help it. That's why babies _are not supposed_ to be able do anything but wiggle and pinch. Because they can't control their emotions yet. How would it be if they went around knocking their mothers down whenever they got upset? But it's okay, because they're so small. It's nature's way of protecting everyone."

She sighed. "But magic kids are different. They're liable to do anything. And this one had just seen his parents get killed right in front of him. So the evening of his first day with us, I'm trying to feed him a bottle and suddenly Vernon shouts that my hair's turning red, and I look up and my husband's shrinking. And about the time I realize Harry didn't have a brother, you start getting all hairy and growing paws and I remember Lily loved cats and probably kept one or two in her house in the wizarding world."

"The what?" exclaimed Dennis, who was clearly lost by now.

"Oh yes!" shrieked Petunia. "You didn't think magic people could just stay home and be magic with their families, did you? Oh, no, once they're finally old enough to control themselves and might actually be a bit useful they go off to a special school to learn about magic and then live in their secret little magic society away from everyone else!" she screeched.

"It's not that magic is that bad on its own. If wizards could just live alongside decent people, maybe take lessons in magic after school or something, I wouldn't have such a problem with it. But while they should be at secondary school learning civics and maths and ethics and growing into responsible citizens, instead they go off together and pretend like it's the sixteenth century in this mad little world where it's perfectly acceptable to fight duels and turn people into animals and whatever you like. And they think they're so much better than us! When every magic person I've known has lived a violent, nasty life! Even my old neighbor, Severus. He was in that newspaper article you've got Dudley; you know what happened to him? Voldemort fed him to a giant snake. What a lovely little world. And they want to keep it secret from us because we'd be jealous?"

She laughed a humorless laugh. "And I'll tell you another thing, they wonder why they've got blood supremacists running about taking over their government. Bunch of hot-tempered over-powerful magic people who think they're too good to live with regular people and they wonder why they keep turning out dark wizards who try to kill all the muggles."

"Blimey, Mum," was all Dudley could say.

But Mrs. Dursley seemed to have talked herself out.

"So Harry was at a magic school this whole time?" Dennis said, always quick on the uptake. "Brilliant! Why'd he drop out though?"

Dudley seemed to accept that it was no good hedging anymore. "Well there was this nutter after him, this wizard who killed his parents. They thought he was dead but he came back and there was this big war in the wizard world. That's why we had to move; they thought the nutter might come after us to find out where he was. He didn't like non-magic people."

"Oh no! But the police found him?"

Dudley shook his head. "Their lot don't have very good police, I don't think. Harry killed him. With magic."

"_Harry_ killed an evil wizard?"

"I know," grinned Dudley with a faint note of pride. "He saved everyone. The bloke might've taken over the whole world if he hadn't been stopped."

"No doubt he was very brave," said Mrs. Dursley. "Just like my sister, and even, yes, Severus Snape. I'm proud that they kept us safe, but they shouldn't have had to. Lily should've been at uni fighting off boys, not hiding in a shack in wizard-town the last year of her short life. She wasn't much older than you two, you realize? And Harry … it's Harry's eighteenth birthday today. He ought to be here, out with his mates, having his first drink."

"He's got mates, hasn't he?" Dudley asked, though the question sounded seriously weird for him to be asking even before he'd finished asking it.

"I suppose. They don't even come of age at eighteen though like proper British people though; they do it at seventeen. Though with the war on I doubt he went out drinking then either. Come to think of it they might not even have a drinking age. Bloody medieval coots."

Dennis put down his saucer. "If any kid deserves to be bought a drink on his eighteenth it's that one."

"You're right," said Dudley. "Especially when you think how we always treated him. And he saved us anyway!"

"It is odd," agreed his mother. "When you're afraid for your family's life it's hard to think about being fair – there's worse things in life than cramped sleeping quarters – but it must have seemed cruel to him."

"How'd you turn Dudley back into a baby again anyway?" asked Dennis.

Mrs. Dursley sighed. "I grew up with a magic sister. Harry's mum. They've got this thing about remorse; it could undo almost anything if I made Lily feel really sorry about what she'd done. Shouldn't have told Vernon that, of course – he only knows one way to make a child feel remorse! But it worked. By the time Harry was school age he immediately felt guilty whenever he'd done magic and could usually undo his mischief himself."

"Still a harsh sentence for such a young convict," Dennis grumbled. "We owe him about a thousand drinks. I hope he doesn't think all not-magic people are like us."

Dudley shrank in his seat.

"Why don't you?" said Petunia suddenly.

"Why don't I what?" said Dudley.

"We know where he is, probably. He inherited his godfather's house. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, I think it was, in London. Vernon tried to get him to hand it over a fair few times..."

"So?"

"So you two are the closest thing he has to muggle friends-"

"-bit sad, that-" put in Dennis.

"- if you want to thank him for what he did, why not go down there and take him out drinking tonight?"

"Are you mental, Mum?" exploded Dudley. "You think Harry wants to go out to the pubs with us on his birthday? _Us_?"

"It's possible," his mother said mildly. "He's eighteen today, and we raised him muggle. He's never going to escape that no matter what he does."

"If anything the specky shortarse is probably doing some daft wizard birthday tradition with his daft wizard mates..."

"I'm up for it," Dennis suddenly said. "Let's take back Harry's idea of muggle-ness."

"You can bloody well go yourself! I'll bet he doesn't even remember you," Dudley bluffed. "He's famous now; there's probably loads of people claiming to be his long-lost friends. And as for me..."

"Look I'm not saying it won't be awkward, mate, but once we get a few drinks in him..."

"... Everyone will feel better," said Mrs. Dursley. "You'll wish you had twenty years from now, Dudders. I certainly do."

Dudley thought about his Aunt Lily. He thought about his old second bedroom collecting dust upstairs, and the kids he'd met in Fife, and a cold, wet hut on a rock seven years ago today, where his cousin had been so grateful for a squashed, sticky birthday cake from a disheveled stranger. Still... "Why don't you go if it's so important, Mum?"

"Because," she said sadly, "you shook his hand, and I just stood there."

"This is mental," Dudley groaned.

"Take my station wagon, popkin."


	3. Good Behavior

It was a warm, bright day in Ottery St. Catchpole and the entire wizarding world was scrunched into Ron Weasley's back garden, sipping iced pumpkin juice and stepping on his mother's marigolds. Or at least that's how it seemed to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny as they ducked into Mr. Weasley's shed just in time to give one more adoring prepubescent witch the slip.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. ("The boy's not in the mood to give speeches and accept awards now, not when he's lost so many friends. His birthday's in July; we can throw a lovely great official to-do then.") But the funny thing about planning future events is, they eventually creep all the way to the present. And when you destroy the most evil wizard in a century, you're not going to have much luck keeping them small and intimate.

"It's your own fault, you know," Ginny laughed. "You could have delegated the horcrux search to dozens of people. But noooooo, 'Dumbledore told _us_ to do it'. You go off on a daring adventure in the middle of a war and leave your classmates back at Hogwarts casting chafing curses on Amycus Carrow's knickers, and you're surprised when they hand you all the glory."

"It still isn't fair," protested Harry.

Ron patted him on the shoulder. "I know, mate, you finally get to have a normal birthday and it's hijacked by old people."

Harry snickered. "That's not what I meant. Did you know it's Neville's birthday today too? Did he not cut off a giant horcrux snake's head with the sword of Gryffindor? Not to mention half the families here sent someone to the final battle. Somehow everyone's conveniently forgotten in favor of putting it all down to me."

"They are a bit sad," Ginny agreed.

"Excuse me, kid sister, but who spent the _last_ postwar peacetime era writing heroic couplets to The Boy Who Was in the Right Place at the Right Time?" Ron said mercilessly.

Ginny blushed. "Turned out to be a better use of my time in primary school than your never-ending naughts and crosses tournament with Fred and George."

It still didn't feel normal mentioning Fred and George without an involuntary lump in the throat. For a moment they were silent.

"Honestly, though," Ron smirked. "Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad?"

Suddenly the four of them couldn't stop laughing for anything. A smile still seemed to come so dear after so many hopeless months.

"I can't wait to go back," said Hermione.

"Big surprise," Ron groaned, poking her.

"But this year more than usual. I just want to wipe the last twelve months completely away, you know?"

"Back?" asked Harry, confused. "Back to Hogwarts?"

"No, back to Malfoy Manor. Of course I mean Hogwarts!"

"We're too old," Ron protested. "We skipped seventh year."

Ginny snorted. "You think you're the only people whose education was interrupted last year? There weren't any muggle-borns or half-bloods or children of loyalists or junior death eaters or people who sneezed at Snape wrong who missed a few months?" She shook her head. "Hogwarts was more prison camp than school last year; they didn't even hold commencement exercises. They're probably going to make everyone redo a year. It'll work out cleaner that way."

"Except the incoming class isn't behind yet," Hermione said. "That class will be double size. I hope they don't run out of dormitories."

"That's another reason to give it a miss," Ron laughed."You won't be able to walk for stepping on a first year!"

Harry didn't know what to say. Had it really been only a year ago that his greatest day-to-day worries had been detention and losing at Quidditch? He tried to imagine himself after all he'd been through getting scolded by professors for coming in late, making a fuss over Hogsmeade weekends, sneaking off to the astronomy tower after curfew to snog …

Ginny. He hated to admit it, but the prospect of a year apart from her was suddenly making him see the cozy side of four-poster beds and feasts. After all, hadn't they fought this war precisely so that everyone could go back to living a normal life?

Unfortunately the mess wasn't quite cleaned up yet. The Auror office had been decimated, between Voldemort's manhunts upon toppling the Ministry and the almost stupid heroics the department's former members had gotten up to in a series of desperate attempts to protect a world they'd lost control of. Which reminded him:

"I got a letter a few weeks ago from Kingsley – er, Minister Shacklebolt. Said they needed some more Aurors and they were waiving the usual N.E.W.T. requirements this year. I think I might go for it."

"Brilliant, mate!" exclaimed Ron. "Bet you could teach them a thing or two."

"Seeing as he missed the most important year of his magical education, Ronald, I don't think he could!" said Hermione icily. "Harry, I thought you didn't want people to respect you based only on your name. But this job interview's going to be a joke, if there even is an interview!"

"Calm down, Hermione," said Harry. "Shacklebolt's very fair. I said they're waiving the test scores, but they're replacing them with a practical exam, more specific to the job. I'll have to pass that instead."

"Yes, but I notice nobody else got such a letter!"

"I did," said Ginny. "It said they were sending them to all current and former Hogwarts students who'd expressed an interest in being an Auror in their pre-O.W.L career counseling sessions with their heads of houses. They really are hard up, Hermione."

"I got one too," said Ron. "But I think I've had enough of dark wizard chasing for one lifetime – I'm going to stick closer to home this year."

Hermione flushed. "And what's your brilliant career plan then?"

"Well the Auror office isn't the only place with open spaces left by the war. George asked me to join him in business!"

But as Harry and Ginny started to congratulate him, Hermione gave them all a look of deepest disappointment. "You mean you're going to be a … a stock boy? In a joke shop? That's what you're going to make of yourself?"

"Yes, and you'll be a stock boy's girlfriend. Seriously, I'm sure he'll let me in on the trade secrets eventually, teach me the craft and all soon enough."

"CRAFT?" Hermione shrieked.

"Yes, craft," said Ginny defensively. "George is brilliant, you know; just because Mum never saw it doesn't mean it isn't true. He has to make up loads of spells himself – he's an inventor. Fred mostly thought of the ideas … I think Ron would be a natural replacement. It's an honest profession, it is!" she ended defiantly.

"And I suppose you'll be their secretary, Ginny?"

Harry really didn't want a full-scale fight to break out. He knew Ron and Hermione so well that sometimes he could predict their fights ahead of time, and this was going to be a long one. Were they ever going to figure out how to avoid stepping on one another's feelings? Or, failing that, step on them privately?

"What do you think you'll go into after you finish school, Hermione?" he said neutrally.

"I don't know!" she suddenly sobbed.

Ron put his arm around her. "Ahhhhh, so that's what this is about. Nervous, are you? Not ready to venture out into the big scary world?"

She scowled. "How can you make jokes about the big scary world after last year?"

"Well nothing's very big and scary after last year, is it?" Harry put in.

"It's okay," Ron said soothingly. "You go back for your seventh year. Work it out then, yeah? Get some N.E.W.T.s. You can do anything you put your mind to." He gave her a reassuring pat.

Hermione gulped. "That's what my parents always said."

Everyone paused. "How did things go with them?" Ginny asked quietly.

Her head dropped into her hand. "They didn't understand why I wiped their memories at all. I mean what muggle would? I tried to tell them how much danger there was but they _really_ didn't understand why we went horcrux-hunting. They kept trying to tell me we all should have gone into hiding together, let the police or the army or the ministry handle it, because I'm still a kid to them, you know? And then I started trying to explain the wizarding world to them, really explain, not talk at them like I've been doing all these years. And … I realized it's a pretty crazy place. Barbaric even, at times."

"Hang on," said Ron. "_Our_ world's barbaric? You lot sew people up with thread and invent great nasty weapons that can kill a million people and _we're_ barbaric?"

"I didn't say it was peaceful, but there was order to it!" she shrieked. "We held civilized battles with willing soldiers in them; we didn't worry about being murdered in our homes! The muggle government might not be full of floating memos and enchanted weather but at least it would take more than a handful of terrorists to shift it!"

"Now that's not fair," said Harry. "The muggle government's a lot bigger."

She ignored him. "You know, when Professor McGonagall showed up on my doorstep with my letter when I was eleven I had a million questions but I didn't for one second think 'should I do this?' It just felt right. And that was back when I never did anything because it felt right." She shook her head. "It's easy to go to away to Fairy Dust Boarding School for Special Kids, everything's brilliant there, but after?"

"So you're going to go back home to Mummy and Daddy and be an accountrement, are you?" Ron challenged. "You keep us alive all year on pure magical genius and you're just going to waste all that?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Well you weren't so bad yourself and you're going off to build pyramids of Tipsy Tarts, Ronald, so maybe we should all be in charge of our own destinies."

"Tell that to Mum," Ginny said wryly as they left the shed. "Does she know you're not going back yet? You don't even have a big fancy 'I have to save the world' excuse this year."

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned. "You know, Harry, sometimes I think of the three of us you lucked out on family. At least yours stays out of things."

"Speak of the devil," said Harry, suddenly spotting two very conspicuous muggles coming across the lawn.


	4. Jailbreak

Dudley didn't know what to do now. Their plan had been downgraded from rescue mission to gate-crashing – that elf thing of Harry's hadn't asked questions when he'd said who he was, just grabbed their arms and appeared here. Well perhaps they could just say what they'd meant to say and leave.

Except, it was kind of cool, really. He jumped every time a firework went off but somehow he couldn't help craning his neck to look at everything. Pictures moved, trays floated, little balls of fire were giving off colorful light in the dusk, and if he had ever been read a fairy tale when he was small he would've sworn he'd just walked into one.

Dennis was grinning like a maniac. "Can you believe this was here the whole time?"

No, he couldn't. Psychologists were always talking about facing your fears, but what happened when your fear turned out to be beautiful? It only made him feel like more of a muff.

Harry had spotted them. He was coming over. Of course … they didn't belong here, did they? He clearly had all the company he needed at this party (How did Harry, his snarky cousin Harry, make so many friends?) He'd think they were taking the mickey or something. The question was, would he order them out before they could speak their piece?

But he'd reached them now and he wasn't saying a word. Just looking, all his friends around him waiting for an explanation. It was worse somehow. In a panic, Dudley tried to delegate the situation. "Harry. Happy birthday. Ah, do you remember Dennis Hayes?"

Harry was stuck between surprise, amusement and confusion. "What? Dennis Hayes? Well I, well of course, but -"

"Oh, good," said Dennis.

"Dudley, I somehow never thought this would become a problem, but you know you can't tell anyone I'm a wizard, don't you?"

"That's a laugh!" said Dennis. "Dudley, tell me about you?"

"Well then how ..."

"You think you can go around turning the grass into needles every Field Day and people won't know you're magic?"

Harry considered this carefully for a minute. "Dunno. Hermione, did any of your primary school friends guess you were magic?"

She smiled sadly. "Maybe a long time ago. I told them they were being silly and they forgot. Now all they know is I don't like to talk about school."

"Then you still … er ..."

"Well yes, Harry. I don't spend all summer studying. Last summer excepted, of course!"

"About that," said Dudley carefully. "We … we heard what you did. That's why we came really. We wanted to say, well, thanks. On behalf of all the muggles who don't know how close they came to snuffing it."

Harry blushed like he was tired of this kind of thing. "You just got back then?"

Dudley looked about ready to melt. "A few weeks ago. Um … we knew what day it was of course … But we didn't know you were having a party, honest! We were just thinking about you because of the, er, you know, because of what day it was."

"We wanted to take you drinking!" Dennis said cheerfully.

"You … wanted to take me drinking," Harry repeated in a bemused tone.

"We know it's a little weird, yeah, but we didn't think anyone else would, and it didn't seem right, you living in London with no parents around and turning eighteen and not going drinking. So we're going to buy you a drink, to thank you for what you did and apologize for … stuff. And your aunt said -"

"Aunt Petunia was in on this?" Harry's head was swimming.

"Yeah, she says hi."

Dudley drew himself up. "You're obviously not free though, so we'll be going."

"Rubbish Dudley," said Dennis. "The pubs don't get full until eleven anyway downtown; we can wait until Harry's free."

"Can I come?" asked Hermione shyly and abruptly.

"Back up, he hasn't even said yes yet!" Dudley said.

"Oh come on," she sputtered. "No one's going to have fun here, you said it yourself, Harry, and you've already greeted all the big shots and made your little speech – why shouldn't you do something a little daft on your eighteenth?"

"I don't think we've been introduced yet," grinned Dennis. "I'm Dennis Hayes."

"I'm Ron Weasley," said Ron Weasley curtly, glaring at Dennis.

"And I'm Dudley Dursley," said Dudley. "Are you really not having fun here? It seems so ..."

Harry laughed. "You get used to it. Say, Hermione … I can't help thinking I know what this is about. On _your_ eighteenth birthday … "

"... toadstool cake, wasn't it?" Ron laughed. "I think we gave you a butterfly and a turn doing the washing up, respectively."

"All right, all right," said Hermione. "I didn't say anything at the time, obviously but I did think … I mean of course I'd always known I wouldn't be home for it, but ..."

"That does it," Harry decided with a sigh. "Now we have to."

"What?"

"Hermione," Harry cleared his throat. "The rest of us didn't have much choice last year. But you could have gone home and forgotten about this whole mess. And you didn't. And this thing with your family … "

"Don't you dare tell me you feel responsible, Harry Potter!"

"Of course," Ron sniggered. "When has Harry ever felt responsible for something that wasn't his fault?"

Dudley looked at the wizards. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?" he said suddenly.

"Yeah, you all seem about thirty-five," Dennis observed. "No offense. Nothing like a night out to make you forget it all though, just saying. Very popular activity with _veterans_, particularly."

"We sort of skipped over silly teenage hijinks," Hermione said. "Bit busy at the time."

"Like you would've anyway," Harry smirked. "I've never seen you have so much as a second Butterbeer."

"It's actually really tempting," she admitted. "The danger's gone now. We could go be no one, you know? Your scar would just be another ugly disfigurement."

"I'm coming," announced Ron. "Let's see how popular this one is with girls without the unfair advantage."

"Oh, is that a challenge?" Harry grinned. "You wouldn't last a ten-minute conversation with a muggle girl and you know it. You just want to keep an eye on your woman."

Hermione gave an Umbridge-sized cough.

"Well as I've said, we've got a few hours," Dennis said. "Want to see a movie first?"

Dudley smiled. "I – I don't think Harry's ever seen a movie."

"Never?" Hermione said, surprised.

Dudley thought for a minute. "We could literally take him to the girliest, sappiest, worst movie possible, and he'd think it was bri-"

"TITANIC!" said Hermione and Dennis at the exact same moment.

"I have so seen a movie," Harry protested. "In primary school. 'Timmy the Tooth-Tamer', or ..."

"'Timmy the Toothinator'!" exclaimed Hermione. "Oh my god, that cheeky animated blighter was the bane of my childhood."

Dennis and Dudley giggled. "'Up and down, mate! Up and down! Now left to right!' They showed that at your school too then?"

"Hermione's parents are dentists," said Harry.

"Finally," she said. "Someone who's properly impressed by that. Yes, I was force-fed every one of Timmy's riveting adventures from the time I was four. There are nineteen, in case you were wondering."

Dennis smiled. "C'mon, let's hit the Odeon and get muggle-tastic."

Everyone reached over to hit him at once.


	5. Freedom

_Rules of Going Out: Muggle Edition_

_ 1) Drinks are to be gender appropriate_

"Bloody hell Harry, what are all these? Fosters, Stella, London Pride …"

"The wizarding world isn't very commercial," Harry whispered to Dudley and Dennis.

Hermione laughed. "Or else we spend all our marketing energies on ten different kinds of broomsticks that do exactly the same thing. He's right though; our pubs tend to brew their own stock. What should we order?"

Dennis shifted on his stool. This would be all too easy to take advantage of … Dudley shook his head as if reading his thoughts. "Why don't you just ask for a pint of Guinness and we'll ease into this, shall we?"

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Is that the foul-looking brown stuff? Not a chance. I think I'll get some cider or mead; at least I know what that'll taste like."

Dudley cleared his throat. "Er, I don't think you'll want to do that mate."

"Why not?" he asked innocently.

"That's, well, the thing is, those are both rather girly drinks," said Dennis, trying not to giggle. "Just pick a lager for now, please?"

"Rubbish!" Ron cried. "How can alcohol be girly? Back me up here Hermione, that's sexist, isn't it?"

Hermione looked deeply uncomfortable. "Ah, there's sexist and there's … traditional. This is just, well, look …" But she couldn't think how to explain. "Fine then. Do what you like."

"I'll get the first round," offered Dudley generously. "Guinness all 'round and a cider for ginger here?"

"I just realized, though," Harry said. "We don't have ID. At least Ron and I don't."

"Honestly," Hermione clucked. "It's called 'magic' for a reason." And she discreetly transfigured a pair of library cards under the table.

Five minutes later, their drinks arrived. "To Harry!" cried everyone and took a deep quaff.

Harry nearly spit his out. "This tastes like that soapy stuff Aunt Petunia used to wash out our mouths with. Can I switch with you, Ron?"

Ron had turned pink as the girl at the next table caught sight of his drink. "Sure."

_ 2) Every man is single on his birthday_

Harry was a little bewildered at the sheer number of people in muggle London. At Hogwarts if you didn't know somebody, you at least knew somebody who knew that somebody. And tonight several strange older somebodies were looking quite like somebodies he wanted to know.

Dennis smirked. "It's the Boarding School Effect, right enough. You get shut up with _girls_ for ten months at a time and you forget how lovely grown women are. Go on, that one looks right enough," he said, indicated a shy-looking brunette across the room.

"Oh no, you see, I've got a girlfriend, actually it's ..."

"Bollocks!" cried Dudley, slapping him on the shoulder. "None of that now. Every man is single on his birthday."

Harry looked torn. The girl was quite pretty. "Well..."

_Except when said man's girlfriend's brother is present_

"Ow! Ron, you can't just do that in front of muggles!"

"Dad specifically drafted in a clause about exceptions in case of emergency. And I think his daughter's honor would qualify!"

"Fine, fine. What would you like to do to pass the time?"

_Drinking games are always appropriate_

"- And his wand snapped in two, which was sad."

"Is that really the dirtiest song you lot know?" Dennis said, laughing so hard he sloshed half his drink down his front. "Oh, the things we could teach you..."

"Not in front of Hermione!" Ron hissed.

Hermione hiccuped. "Ron, Ron, Ron. I bet you don't even know about the man from Nantucket."

Dudley grinned. "Your turn, Tooth Girl."

"I'm completely lost and you know it." Hermione sighed bemusedly. "I think you made this game up."

Dennis wagged his finger. "You can't go leveling such serious accusations against 'Never Have I Dared a Strip Obstacle Chug Poker Pong'. We at Stoned Well High built an entire culture around it."

She shook her head. "Fine. Go fish, you."

_If you're trying to select a designated driver by playing 'Never Have I Dared a Strip Obstacle Chug Poker Pong', it is already too late._

"Damn, that's true."

_Especially when only three out of five of you can drive._

"How does it know?"

_The losers taking the last tube home on Saturday night are even more violently drunk than you are._

"I'm sorry, Harry. This probably wasn't the best introduction to adult muggle society you could've wished for," Dennis slurred, his head on Ron's shoulder.

Harry smiled. "Are you kidding? This was the best birthday ever."

"Considering the previous seventeen birthdays you've had, that probably isn't saying much," said Dudley.

They all fell silent for a second.

"You know," said Ron suddenly, "the muggle world isn't so bad. You lot have some very decent music. _Very_ decent. Those Beedles..."

"Beatles," Hermione corrected him automatically, though with equal drunkenness. "I'm taking that as an agreement, you sodding magic man. If we get married and have kids I'm sending them to muggle primary school so they never ever ever call the Beatles 'Beedles'. We can read them wizard fairy tales though and call it even." And with a theatrical snore, she fell asleep on Ron's other shoulder.

Dudley snickered. "You have some weird friends, Harry."

"Yeah?" said Harry, indicating the slumped form of Dennis Hayes bobbing up and down to an imaginary beat. "Maybe next time we'll take you to Hogsmeade and we'll see who's weird."


	6. Epilogue

_Rules of going out: Wizard Edition_

_Madam Rosmerta is old enough to be your gran._

"You hear that?" she repeated for good measure. "Your gran! So keep your hands to yourself."

"I should've warned you," Hermione whispered. "We live to be about twice as old as muggles so these things happen."

Dudley shuddered, imagining the sort of messy inter-generational romances and mad step-relationships that might result from this cultural ambiguity. Meanwhile Dennis leaned back in his chair, nonplussed. "I like grans," he shrugged. "Maybe she'll knit me a jumper."

_Muggles are immune to certain types of wizard alcohol, namely those which capitalize on weaknesses in the wizard drinker's kineso-distributional system._

"Huh?"

_Don't try to go shot for shot with a muggle._

Ron looked up from the fetid puddle of billywig essence in which he was now lying, as Dennis chuckled unabashedly. "Too right."

_Ignorance can be a good thing._

"Wow, I've never met such a good listener," gushed the pretty witch at Dudley's elbow, who had been gabbing on about Quidditch and OWLs and the Weird Sisters for the past half hour. "What house are you in?"

Dudley frowned. "I don't like to talk about school when I'm not in school. There's a whole world out there, you know? Why get bogged down in school drama?"

She smiled shyly. "That is so true. You're so worldly. What kind of music do you like to listen to?"

He adopted what he thought was a Bohemian expression. "The music of your voice, babe."

She shuddered in delight.

_It is much easier to be wise in a pub._

"I think I know what I want to do with my life," Hermione announced to Harry. "I'm going into politics. Who better to organize this mess of a legal system than me?"

"Cheers to that!" slurred Dennis. "Hermione Granger, leader of the free world."

"Thanks," she coughed. "Now buy me another drink and I'll tell you all my big plans."


End file.
